EPIGRAMS OF ALL SORTS, Made at DIVERS TIMES On SEVERAL OCCASIONS.  
By Richard Flecknoe.  
A nostris procul est omnis vesica libellis.  Mart. 
LONDON: Printed for the Author, and Will. Crook, at the Green-dragon without Temple-bar. 1670.   

THE Epistle Dedicatory, To all his NOBLE FRIENDS.  
THere is none Prints more, nor publishes less than I; for I Print only for myself and private Friends (and had I not thought these more passable than the rest, I had never made them so public as I do.)  
I writ chief to avoid Idleness, and print to avoid the Imputation: and as others do it to live after they are dead; I do it only not to be thought dead whilst I am a live: (for as the concealing what one does, little differs from Idleness, so the being Idle, little differs from being dead.)  
Epigram in general, is a quick and short kind of Writing, rather a slight, than any great force of the Spirit; and therefore the more fit for me, who 〈◊〉 not to take pains in any thing, and rather affect a little negligence, than too great curiosity (which I desire may serve for excuse of my negligence in some of these.)  
Epigrams at their first institution served only for Inscriptions of Ports, and Entries of Temples, and public places, and consisted only in a Distich, or line or two; till at length, by degrees, they became so much enlarged, both for matter and quaintity, as there was nothing that was not matter of Epigram, and no length it would not admit of, so it kept but close unto the matter, with that l●se and quickness which was Requisite and essential to it; and especially avoided long discourses, which is 〈◊〉 improper for it, as a long Robe for one who is to run a Race.  
For these here, they are chief in praise of worthy persons, of which none had ever a more plentiful subject than I, having been always conversant with the best and worthiest in all places where I came; and amongst the rest with Ladies, in whose conversation, as in an Academy of Virtue, I learned nothing but Goodness, saw nothing but nobleness; and one might as well be drunk in a Christial Fountain, as have any evil thoughts whilst they were in their Company. Which I shall gladly always remember, as the happiest and innocentest part of all my life; and that they are mixed with the dispraise of others, 'tis only as sauce unto the rest, which should always have somewhat of sharp piquant in it.  
I was long deliberating before I published them, whether I should range them in order, or let them pass promisculously, till at last (to save the Herald's labour) I resolved on this latter way, only I have separated the more Light and Theatical ones, and the more Grave and Pious ones from the rest, as being particularly subjects of themselves.  
Of which Pious ones, this I will only say, that Piety and Deution, Consisting chief in moving the Affection, Verse seems the fittest language for it, and of all Verse, that of Epigrams: it being a short Jaculatory, kind of writing, and therefore the aptest to penetrate the breast, it is that which strews the way of Virtue and Piety with Roses instead of Thorns: and one reason why no more are delighted with it, is because it is no more delightfully persuaded; and than it was when Verse was wholly employed in Devotion, that Poetry was called the Language of the Gods, your Poets, Prophets, and such as Moses and David were Poets: nor will it ever be well with the World, till things return to their first institution, and Poets take as much pains to render Piety and Virtue delightful, as now they do Vice and Impiety. Whatsoever they are, they are yours, for I have made them for you, and to dedicate them to any one in particular, were to do injury to the rest, take them amongst you then, for 'tis but just, that I should Dedicate all I have to you, to whom I have dedicated myself.  
R. F.   

Emendatioms  
Recomended to the Reader.  
TO distinguish my faults from the Printers, first the Reader may please to amend these few faults escaped in the printing, and pardon the rest. Page 11. Line 8. read your for the. P. 14. l. 10. r. then for as, and l. 14. 45 for 55. P. 33. l. ult. r. makes them seem less great. P. 38. l. 13. r. fruit for first. P. 86. l. 2. r. 54 for 34. P. 87. l. 2. r. ordering for making.  
For mine own faults p. 9 read the first Stanzza thus:  

CYrus a mighty Conqueror was,  
And great Example of other Princes:  
But you his Conquests far surpass,  
Who win more hearts than he Provinces.   
You will find many other rubs besides, to hinder the Verses running smooth, which none but a Friend can excuse; and I should be sorry they should light into any other hands.   

EPIGRAMS Of all sorts, Made at divers times, On several occasions.  

Of EPIGRMS in general.  
WHat Airs in point of Music are, the same,  
In point of writing is your Epigram,  
Short, quick and sprightly; and both these and those  
When th' Ear expects it, comes unto a close.  
'Tis but few lines, but those like Gold well tried  
Out of the dross of many lines beside;  
And says not much, but all it says is good,  
And plain and easy to be understood.  
In every kind, be th' Writing what it will,  
'Tis that most takes, and most delights you still;  
And does to th' rest, no less Adornment bring  
Then does the Stone or jewel to the Ring.  
Poet's can't write, nor Orators declaim,  
But all their wit is chief Epigram:  
And both in Verse and Prose, and every thing  
Your Epigram is writing for a King.   

Of the difficulty of making them nowadays.  
NOr is't so easy making of them, as  
It was of old, in our Forefathers days:  
When even the very sound of words alone,  
Or outside of them used to pass for one.  
And when they heard a Clench, or Quibble spoke,  
They'd claw you for't, as if some Jest were broke.  
But now they're grown more curious and nice,  
And what was Virtue then, is counted Vice.  
Clenches and Quibbles now are out of date,  
Which they no less than Bilke and Nonsense hate:  
And when they hear but any of them said,  
The Wits are ready straight to break your head.  
So goes the World, nor must we think it strange  
The Mode together with the Times should change.  
'Tis so, we see, in fashion of our clothes,  
And why not of our Wits as well as those?   

Of several sorts of Wits.  
wit's like Hawks are for the sport;  
Some are long-winged, some are short:  
The first do fly so high a flight,  
They often soar quite out of sight.  
The second far the fit for you,  
Keep them close unto the Quarry:  
Nor too low, nor yet too high,  
Of this latter sort am I.   

To the Duke of MONMOUTH, On his going into France, Anno 68  
WE to the French as much in Court did yield,  
As they to us did formerly i'th' Field,  
Till Monmouth went, and overcame them more  
I'th' Court than ere we did i'th' Field before.  
How fatal to the French is Monmouths name!  
They should be twice thus Conquered by the same:  
By Valour first in War, and now no less  
A second Time, by Gallantry in Peace!   

To the Duchess of MONMOUTH.  
Madam,  
YOu being all Admirable as you are,  
No wonder yet I never could declare,  
But by an Aspiration or two,  
The admiration which I had for you!  
Nor is it a thing I have rane up of report,  
But travelling your whole Sex over for't,  
I must conclude, where ever I have been,  
You are the worthiest yet I have ever seen:  
Else 'twere my Ignorance, not your praise, had I  
Not first of all made full discovery:  
" For who know nothing, admire all they view;  
Who all things know, nothing admire but you.  
Nor can there any so injurious be  
Unto your worth, to think this Flattery:  
" 'Tis flattery to praise vice, but when we praise  
" Virtue, 'tis obligation each one has;  
And they should rather be thought envious, who  
Don't praise you for't, than flatterers who do.   

To a certain Great Lady, Who commanded him to wait on her; And when he came, he was made to wait for her.  
Madam,  
YOu did command that I should wait on you,  
And that there's none more willingly should do:  
But to wait for you in your outward Rooms,  
Among your Tradesmen, Servingmen & Grooms.  
That is a thing I never yet could do,  
Nor ever was accustomed unto.  
Bid me to go, I will run; to run, I will flee;  
But stand and wait's impossible for me.  
All that is possible to be done, I will do;  
I can wait on you, but can't wait for you.   

On the death of the Duke of GLOUCESTER.  
HIgh- born and Great, as any Prince on earth,  
With Mind more Great and High then was his Birth:  
Wise 'bove his years, Valiant above a man,  
Whence you perceive how early he began;  
Whose life was only an Epitome,  
Where you in brief all gallantry might see;  
And active fire, like lightning did appear,  
That even is gone ere you can say 'tis here.  
One who had all those brave and noble parts,  
Which most gain love, & most do conquer hearts:  
Whence no Prince yet had ever more that grieved  
When he was dead, or loved him when he lived.  
Who's now so dull, when this they hear but said,  
That does not know the Duke of Glocester's dead?  
The gallantest person Nature ever made,  
And hopefullest Prince as ever England had.  
Let all admire this world now, learn by this,  
What all their worldly hopes and Greatness is.   

On the death of the Lady Jean Cheynée.  
THe softest Temper, and the mildest Breast  
Most apt to pardon, needing pardon lest;  
Whose blush was all her Reprehension,  
Whilst none ere heard her chide, nor saw her frown:  
All sweetness, gentleness, and doulike all,  
Without least anger, bitterness or gall;  
Who scarce had any passion of her own,  
But was for others all compassion:  
A Saint she lived, and like a Saint she died,  
And now is gone where only Saints abide.  
What will she be when she's with Angels, when  
She even was one whilst here she was with men?  
What will she be in heaven when she comes there,  
Whose life and manners were so heavenly here?  
Make much of her you Saints, for God knows when  
Your Quires will ever have her like again.   

The Pourtract.  
SUch a Stature as they call  
Nor too Low, nor yet too Tall;  
With each part from head to foot  
Justly answerable to it:  
Such a Beauty, such a Face  
Adds to all the rest a Grace;  
In whose Circle does appear  
Thousand Cupids sporting there.  
Hair so black, and Skin so white,  
Never was a fairer sight.  
And her fairer yet to make,  
Eyes and Eyebrows too as black.  
Forehead smother than the Glass  
In the which she sees her Face.  
Cheeks, where naturally grows  
The Lilies and the blushing Rose.  
Nose 'bove all so gently rises,  
Nothing more the sight surprises.  
Lips, all other Lips excelling,  
Th' are so ruddy and so swelling.  
Mouth and pretty dimpled Chin,  
With such pearly Teeth within,  
No Indian Shell did ere enclose  
More Oriental one's than those.  
Voice that charms you 'tis so sweet,  
Made more charming by her Wit:  
And you'd think in every smile  
All the Graces dwelled the while.  
If anyed know who this may be,  
Name but Bellasis, it is she.   

STANCES Envoyez par le Sieur de Scudery A l' Altezze de Madame la Duchess de Lorrein Avec son Grand Cyrus.  

§.  
CYrus passa tous les vainqueurs  
Ilfut l' Example des Grands Princes;  
Mais vous surmontez plus des Coeurs  
Qu'il ne surmonta des provinces.   

§.  
O mervileuse nouveauté  
O rare pouvoir de vos Charmes  
De faire plus par la Beauté  
Qu'un Heros ne fit par ses Armes.   

§.  
Vous voyant vaincre en un moment  
Le Brave qui vainquit l' asia  
Chacun a de l' estonement  
Mandane a de la Ialousie.   

§.  
En fin le plus grand des Guerriers  
Valerio mettre a vos pieds sa Couronne  
Heureux si parmy ses Lauriers  
Vous prennez son Coeur qu'il vous donne.    

STANCES Sent to her Highness the Duchess of Lorrein, By the Sieur de Scudery, Together with his Grand Cyrus.  

§.  
CYrus a mighty Conqueror was,  
To whom for valour none but yields:  
But yours, his Conquests far surpass,  
Who win more hearts than he did fields.   

§.  
O strange to admiration!  
O wondrous power of your Charms!  
Your Beauty should do more alone,  
Then could a Hero by his Arms.   

§.  
To see you overcome so soon  
Him, who all Asia overcame;  
Gives wonder unto every one!  
And jealousy unto Mandane.   

§.  
In fine, the best of Warriors lays  
His Crown down at your feet, and shall  
Count it his happiness, if with's bays  
You but accept his heart and all.    

On her Death.  

WHen this fair soul in mortal flesh did live,  
It had some Angel been you would believe;  
Through her bright Exterior there did shine  
So much from her Interior of Divine.  
And if her Virtuous Actions you had seen,  
You would have thought she virtue's self had been:  
Which could it but be seen by mortal Eyes,  
All hearts with admiration would surprise.  
And now all that could die of her is dead,  
And that that's living unto Heaven is fled,  
As when some Lamp untimely does expire,  
The flame mounts up to th' Element of Fire.  
This Epitaph in memory of her,  
Let's only write upon her Sepulchre.   

She who alive all Virtue and Beauty was,  
T' on in her Breast, and t'other in her Face,  
Now she is dead, just Reason w'ave to fear  
All Virtue and Beauty too are dead with her:  
Whilst all the joy we had, or ere shall have,  
Now she is dead, lies buried in her Grave.    

To her Noble Sister, Madamoiselle de BEAUVAIS, Now Princess of Aremberg.  
ALl the Lay thoughts, Madam, I ever had  
Of your fair Sex, are now Religious made,  
Admiring you, and I'm become by it,  
Your Sex's Votary, and your Convertit.  
For just unto the Chamber all do come  
As to some Temple, and from thence go home;  
The bad converted, and the good far more  
Confirmed in Goodness, than they were before:  
Whilst with your sight, not only you restrain  
All vicious speech, but even all light and vain:  
And none to utter there, permission has,  
Or words of double sense, or doubtful phrase.  
Yet Virtue that's in others so severe,  
It from their conversation does deter,  
In you is so attractive and so gay,  
None from your presence ere went sad away.  
But stay my Muse, for if thou forwards tend,  
Thou mayst begin, but never make an end,  
Of such as hers, whose praise is infinite,  
The more you say, the less you say of it.  
There is an Artful silence, as there was  
An Artful vailing Great Atrides face:  
'Tis praise enough to say that she can ne'er  
Be praised enough, and say no more of her.   

Of Welbeck, The Duke of Newcastles House, Where he entertained The last King so magnificently, Anno 33.  
WElbeck, a Royal place where every thing  
Seems made for entertainment of a King,  
And every one confesses that he ne'er  
Was entertained more royally than there.  
Let others wonder at thy Lord's expense,  
And at the vastness of is Magnificence.  
He who would hazard Fortune, Life and all,  
To serve his Master when his General;  
For me I ne'er shall wonder that he would  
Not spare his purse, who would not spare his blood.   

To Sir WILLIAM DEWCY On his three entertainments of The King, the Prince of Denmarck, And the Prince of Tuscany, All the last Summer, Anno 69.  
DEwcy that bravely knowst to spend  
When 'tis for any noble End;  
And never stickst at the Expense,  
When 'tis to show Magnificence.  
For th' Royal entertainment, that  
thoust given unto thy Prince of late▪  
The honour only is thine own  
But what's to other Princes done,  
The honour thou to them dost do,  
Is both thine own and Countries too;  
In that thou'rt but a private man,  
In this a public person, and  
Thy Country should ungrateful be,  
Should it not always honour thee,  
Who know'st so bravely how to spend  
When 'tis for any noble End;  
And never stickst at the expense,  
When 'tis to show Magnificence.   

On his House at Charlton nigh Greenwich. Where these entertainments were made.  
WHilst Greenwich for its seats commended so,  
Thou shalt not Charlton uncommended go▪  
Although thou want'st a Barklays pen to raise  
Thee to the height of Fame which the other has.  
Did Thames but at thy feet its Tribute pay,  
As it does to theirs, thou'dst be as famed as they.  
But yet it needs not, for thou hast by Land,  
As that by Water, full as great command;  
And hast as many Naiads as they  
Their Hyades have, who thy commands obey.  
Thy Champions are as pleasant and as green,  
Thou seest as much, though not so much art seen;  
And in thy safe retirement from the Shore,  
Thy Fame's the less, but happiness the more.  
In brief, thy Gardens, Orchards, and thy Fields  
Yield not to tother's Park, whilst Greenwich yields  
As much, or more (although a Royal Seat)▪  
To thee for height, as thou to it for Great.   

On his Accession to the Poetical Academy in Italy, Anno 55. under the precedency of the Duke of Buckingham.  
'TIs so indeed! here's a free Mart or Fair,  
I now perceive, of all Poetic Ware;  
No Tax, Gabel, nor Imposition none  
On any Merchandise, but every one  
Brings what he please, and from the Lord o'th' place  
Free passport, and safe conduct for it has:  
Mean time all store of rich Commodities  
Are here installed, to take the curious Eyes.  
Pictures o'th' mind, so drawn to th' life and like,  
They put down Titian, Holbeen and Vandike.  
Damasks and Tissus of Parnassus' work  
Surpass the Chinean, Persian, and the Turk.  
T'ons' richer vein, and sparkling Wit contends  
With Gold and jewels, either India sends;  
Tother for soft and silken Phrase puts down  
The smoothest Satin and the softest down.  
Only as I have heard objected, there's  
Amongst the rest great want of some small wares;  
Things which your simple people so admire,  
They scarce without them think a Fair entire:  
And for such Bagatels that none may lack,  
I'm come to fit them with my Pedlers-pack.   

To Sir K. D. made Anno 45.  
WHilst with thy mighty Wit I but compare  
Our petty ones, methinks they Pigmies are;  
And thine the Hercules, with whose vast discourse  
Whilst we'd be meddling fain, but want the force,  
Thy Wit comes to't, and presently with ease  
Takesed up as light, and weylds it as thou please.  
Oh how I've sometimes longed, when I have been  
Where I some insolent prating Sir have seen,  
With Tyrant talk a wing the Company,  
Whilst none must speak, & none be heard but he;  
T'ave some such Tyrant-Conquerer as thou  
Enter the room, but only to see how  
My mighty Talker presently would sneak  
At sight of thee, nor dare to look nor speak.  
So have I seen some chattering Pie or jay,  
Fright with their noise the lesser Fowl away;  
Until by chance some Eagle comes in sight,  
When straight themselves are hushed & put to flight.   

To the Lady Gerard of Brunley, of the Education of my Lord her Son.  
IF Education second Nature be,  
(Madam) you doubly oblige Posterity,  
By giving (as you do) my Lord your Son,  
Such brave and noble Education,  
As gives him double Title to the Fame  
Of noble Gerard, and brave Digbies name:  
Which you bestow, and he receives so well;  
Which merits greater praise, there's none can tell:  
But all agree, there's none can better do,  
A Sons than he, a Mother's part than you.   

EPITAPH In memory of that ever-memorable Lady Anne Packington Lady Audley.  

STay Reader, and if ever thou wouldst hear  
A story worthy thy intentive ear,  
Know here lies buried in this Sepulchre   

One who had all those excellent qualities  
Of noble, virtuous, beautiful, and wise,  
A mortal creature, could immortalize.   

Who after all degrees of Mother, Wife  
And Maid she'd passed, and left them all at strife,  
Which state she most had honoured in her life;   

At last (a weary of this life below)  
She died, and unto highest heaven did go,  
To honour there the State of Angels too.    

To the Lord Henry Howard of Norfolk, Returning from his Asiatic voyage.  
My Lord,  
AS Merchant's trade for other Riches, so  
You trade for Honour, wheresoever you go;  
And richly fraughted with it, always make  
A noble and brave return at coming back.  
What store then must the Howards have of't? who  
Have such brave Factors for't abroad, as you?  
And are so honoured for't at home, as they,  
Without offence of any, well may say,  
As God first made the Light, than made the Sun  
A great Reserve (as 'twere) for't, when he'd done:  
So Kings make Honour, and the Howards are  
The great Reserves of't, you still find it there.   

To his Highness, COSMO Prince of Tuscany On his Travels.  
COsmo a name that's all Cosmography,  
And Cart or Map where all the world you see  
Seeing what you do, and being what you are,  
You are the only great Cosmographer.  
And if others like rolling Balls of Snow,  
Travelling about the world still greater grow:  
How great must you be, who were great before;  
And now by travelling still grow more & more?   

To the same, On his coming into England.  
COsmo whose thirst of seeing the world's so great,  
Should the Creator more new worlds create;  
Till there were Globes enough for every Ball  
I'th' Mediceian Arms, you'd see them all.  
Amongst the rest at last y''re come to see  
This other world of ours, Great Britain;  
And Princes like yourself where ere they come,  
This privilege have, they're every where at home.  
Others are Citizens of the world, but you  
Not only Citizen, but Prince of't too;  
Nearly by Birth and Parentage allied,  
To most o'th' Princes of the world beside.   

To the Lady M. N. Or the fair Daughter of as fair a Mother.  
WHat you'll be in Time we know  
By the Stock on which you grow,  
As by Roses we may see  
What in time the Buds will be:  
So in Flowers, and so in Trees,  
So in every thing that is;  
Like its like does still produce,  
As 'tis Nature's constant use;  
Grow still then till you discover  
All the Beauties of your Mother:  
Nothing but fair and sweet can be  
From so sweet and fair a Tree.    

EPIGRAMS.  
The second BOOK.  

To his Royal Highness, The Duke of York, Returning from our Naval Victory, Anno 65.  
MOre famous and more great then ere  
Caesar or Alexander were!  
Who hath both done and outdone too,  
What those great Heroes could not do.  
Till Empire of the Seas we get,  
No Victory can be complete:  
For Land and Sea makes but one Ball;  
They had but half, thou hast it all.  
Great Prince, the glory of our days,  
And utmost bound of humane praise!  
Increased in stile, we well may call  
Thee now the whole world's Admiral,  
Whilst might Charles with Trident stands,  
And like some God the Sea commands.  
Having so gloriously o'ercome,  
What now remains but to come home,  
And fixed in our British Spher,  
Shine a bright Constellation there?  
More famous and more great than ere  
Caesar or Alexander were.   

To his Highness' Prince Rupert, on the same.  
GReat and Heroic Prince, surpassing far  
Him who was styled the Thunderbolt of War:  
The Belgic Lion stands amazed to see  
A greater Lion than itself in thee;  
And Zealand on, all trembling for fear,  
Half sinks into the Waves, and hides it there.  
Ne'er since the Grecians called the world their own,  
Or Romans theirs, was greater valour known:  
And if there yet new worlds to conquer were,  
Brave Rupert were the fittest Conqueror.  
Greatest Example of Heroic worth,  
As ever yet this latter Age brought forth;  
As formerly the Land of Britain was,  
So now the Sea's too narrow for thy praise,  
And 'twill in time become the work alone  
Of ecstasy and admiration!  
Great and Heroic Prince, surpassing far!  
Him, who was styled the Thunderboult of War!   

To Sir K. D. in Italy, Anno 46. Recommending to him a certain Memorial.  
I Must beg of you, Sir, nay what is more,  
('Tis a disease so infectious to be poor)  
Must beg you'd beg for me; which whilst I do,  
What is't but even to make you beggar too?  
But poverty being as honourable now,  
As 'twas when Cincinnatus held the plough;  
Senators Sowed and Reaped, and who had been  
In Car of triumph fetched the Harvest in:  
Whilst mightiest Peers do want, nay what is worse,  
Even greatest Princes live on others purse;  
And very Kings themselves are beggars made,  
No shame for any Sir, to be o'th' Trade.   

To Sir Peter Collaton, On the discovery and Plantation of Carolina in America.  
BOrn for the Country's good, and adding to't  
New Countries and Plantations to boot,  
(Whilst others for themselves seem only born  
Like Rats and Mice, and but to eat up Corn:)  
If others so much praised and honoured are  
For bringing home some foreign Country's ware;  
Their praise compared to thine must needs be small,  
Bringst home the ware, the Country too, and all.   

On Mary Duchess of Richmond.  
WHether a cheerful air does rise  
And elevate her fairer Eyes;  
Or a pensive heaviness  
Her lovely Eyelids does depress;  
Still the same becoming Grace  
Accompanies her Eyes and Face;  
Still you'd think that habit best,  
In which her countenance last was dressed.  
Poor Beauties! whom a look or glance,  
Can sometimes make look fair by chance;  
Or curious dress, or artful care  
Can make seem fairer than they are:  
Give me the Eyes, give me the Face,  
To which no Art can add a Grace:  
Give me the looks, no garb, nor dress  
Can ever make more fair, or less.   

On the Death Of Charles Lord Gerard of Bromley.  
WHo alive so far had been,  
He almost every land had seen;  
And almost every thing did know  
A man could in this World below:  
At last his knowledge to improve,  
Is gone unto the World above,  
Where his knowledge is so much,  
And his happiness is such,  
'Twould envy, and not sorrow seem  
In those too much should grieve for him.   


On George Duke of Albemarle.  
IF others have their honours well deserved  
Who nobly have their King & Country served:  
What Honour ever can be worthy you,  
Who have not only served, but saved them too?    

To a Lady Too curious of her Dress,  
ANd why Clarissa so much pains and care,  
To gain the reputation of fair!  
When without all this care, and all this pain  
You have already what you strive to gain?  
Beauty and Truth need so small setting forth,  
As all you add to't, take but from its worth;  
And th' Sun and you, need far more art to hid  
Your brighter beams, then make them more espied.  
All other Arts in you would show as poor  
As his should go about to gild Gold over;  
And you'd appear as vain in it, as they  
Should seek by Art to Blanche the Milkie-way.  
You're fair enough Clarissa, leave to those  
These petty arts, whose beauty's only Clothes;  
And who need powdering, patching, painting too,  
Or else they know their beauty'll hardly do.  
So politics when Lion's skin does fail,  
Do use to pie●e it out with Fox's tail.  
But when th'ave Lions skin enough, 'tis poor  
And beggarly to add a piece to't more.   

To Mr. Edward Howard, Brother to the Duke of Norfolk.  
IT is not Travel makes the man, 'tis true,  
Unless a man could Travel Sir like you;  
In putting off themselves, and putting on  
The best of every Country where they come:  
Their Language, Fashions, Manners & their use,  
Purged of the dross, and stripped of the abuse:  
Whilst you pied Traveller, who nothing knows  
Of other Country's fashions, but their clothes;  
And learns their Language but as Parrots do,  
Only perhaps a broken word or two;  
Goes and returns the same he went again,  
By carrying still himself along with him.   

On the Duchess of Newcastles Closet.  
WHat place is this? looks like some sacred Cell  
Where ancient Hermits formerly did dwell!  
And never ceased importunating Heaven,  
Till some great blessing unto Earth was given?  
Is this a Lady's Closet? it cannot be,  
For nothing here of vanity we see,  
Nothing of curiosity, nor pride,  
As most of Lady's Closets have beside.  
Scarcely a Glass, or Mirror in't you find,  
Excepting Books the Mirrors of the mind.  
Nor is't a Library, but only as she  
Makes each place where she comes a Library.  
Here she's in rapture, herein ecstasy,  
With studying high, and deep Philosophy:  
Here those clear lights descend into her mind,  
Which by reflection in her Books you find:  
And those high Notions, and Ideas too,  
Which but herself, no Ladies ever knew.  
Whence she's the chiefest Ornament and Grace  
O'th' times, and of her Sex. Hail sacred place,  
To which the world in aftertimes shall come  
As unto Homer's Shrine, or Virgil's Tomb;  
Honouring the Walls wherein she made abode,  
The air she breathed, & ground whereon she trod.  
So Fame rewards the Arts, and so again  
The Arts reward all those who honour them;  
Whilst those in any other things do trust,  
Shall after death lie in forgotten dust.   

To Mrs. STUART.  
STuart a Royal name that springs  
From Race of Caledonian Kings;  
Whose virtuous mind, and beauteous fame  
Adds honour to that Royal Name,  
What praises can I worthy find,  
To celebrate thy form, and mind?  
The greatest power that is on Earth,  
Is given to Princes by their Birth,  
But there's no power in Earth nor Heaven,  
More great than what's to Beauty given,  
That makes not only men relent,  
When unto rage and fury bend,  
But Lion's tame, and Tigers mild,  
All fierceness from their breasts exiled.  
Such wonders yet could ne'er be done  
By Beauty's force and power alone,  
Without the power and force to boot  
Of excellent goodness added to't.  
For just as Jewels we behold,  
More brightly shine when set in Gold:  
So Beauty shines far brighter yet,  
In virtue and in goodness set.  
Continue then but what you are,  
So excellently good and fair;  
Let Princes by their birthrights sway,  
You'll have a power as great as they.   

On her dancing in Whitehall, All shining with jewels.  
SO Citharea in th' Olympic Hall,  
And th'rest o'th' Stars dance their Celestial Ball,  
As Stuart with the rest o'th' Nymphs does here,  
The brightest Glories of the British Sphere;  
Who would not think her heaven, to see her thus  
All shine with Starry sewels as she does?  
Or somewhat more than Heaven, to see her Eyes  
Out shine the starry Jewels of the Skies?  
Only her splendor's so exceeding bright,  
Th'excess confounds & blinds us with the sight;  
Just as the Sun that's bright to that degree,  
Nothing is more, nothing less seen than he.  
Mean time the rapid motion of the Spheres  
Is not so sweet and Ravishing as hers:  
Nor is't the harmony makes her dance, but she  
In dancing 'tis that makes the harmony.  
Next to divinest Cynthia Queen of light,  
Never was seen a Nymph so fair and bright!  
Nor ever shall, 'mong all her starry train,  
Though those in Heaven should all come down again.   

On her Marriage, With the Duke of Richmond.  
THe fairest Nymph of all Diana's train,  
For whom so many sighed, & sighed in vain.  
She who so oft had others Captive made,  
And who so oft o'er others triumphed had,  
Is Venus Captive now herself, and led  
In triumph to the noble Richmond's bed.  
Nor is it strange to see about her fly  
As many Cupids as are Stars i'th' sky,  
As many Graces as are sands i'th' Sea,  
Nor yet as many Venus' as they:  
But to behold so many Virtue's throng  
About a Nymph so beautiful and young.  
Is strange indeed, and clearly shows she had  
Called all in counsel when the match was made;  
And Venus Urania only 'twas who came  
Herself from Heaven to celebrate the same.   

To LILLY, Drawing the Countess of Castlemains Picture.  

STay daring man, and ne'er presume to draw  
Her Picture, till thou mayst such colours get  
As Zeuxis and Appelles never saw,  
Nor ere were known by any Painter yet:   

Till from all Beauties thou extracts the Grace,  
And from the Sun the beams that gild the Skies,  
Never presume to draw her beauteous face,  
Nor paint the radiant brightness of her Eyes.   

In vain the whilst thou dost the labour take,  
Since none can set her forth to her desert:  
She who's above all Nature ere did make,  
Much more's above all can be made by Art.   

Yet ben't discouraged, since whoever do see't,  
At least with admiration must confess,  
It has an air so admirably sweet,  
Much more than others, though than hers much less.   

So those bold Giants who would scale the Sky,  
Although they in their high attempt did fall,  
This comfort had, they mounted yet more high  
Than those who never strove to climb at all.   

Comfort thee then, and think it no disgrace  
From that great height a little to decline,  
Since all must grant the Reason of it was  
Her too great Excellence, and no want of thine.    

Somewhat to Mr. J. A. On his excellent Poem of Nothing.  
OF Nothing, nothing's made, they say, but thou  
By what thoust made disprov'st that saying now,  
And provest thyself maker of Poems right,  
couldst out of nothing bring such one's to light,  
Which I, (as Creatures him who does create)  
Only on Somewhat dully imitat:  
Mean time at least, say all they can again it,  
I hope they needs must say there's somewhat in it:  
Or granting it as good as nothing be,  
The greater honour still, for it, and me.   

To Mr. Henry Jermin, On their demanding why he had no higher Titles, etc.  
STill noble, gallant, generous and brave,  
What more of Titles would these people have?  
Or what can they imagine, more to express  
How great thou art, that would not make thee less?  
He who is proud of other Titles, is  
Proud of a thing that's Fortune's, none of his;  
A thing that's but the Title-page o'th' Book,  
On which your Fools and Children only look:  
Or garnishment of dishes, not to eat,  
But empty nothings to set off the meat.  
Thou enviest none their honours, but wouldst be  
Sorry they should deserve them more than thee:  
And 'twere in thee but vain ambition  
To seek by other Titles to be known,  
When Harry jermins' name alone, affords  
As great and loud a sound as any Lords.  
Be still thyself then, and let others be  
High as they will in place, what's that to thee?  
Their worth is all without, but thine within,  
And man 'tis fills the place, but worth fills him.  
The Title of a worthy person's more  
Than all the Titles which your Clowns adore;  
And there's no Office we may greater call,  
Then doing of good offices to all:  
This is thy Office, these thy Titles are,  
The rest take those that list, thou dost not care.   

Of an unworthy Nobleman.  
SEe you yond thing, that looks as if he'd cry  
I am a Lord, a mile ere he comes nigh?  
And thinks to carry it, by being proud,  
Or looking high and big, and talking loud.  
But mark him well, you'll hardly find enough,  
In the whole man, to make a Lackey of;  
And for his words, you'll scarcely pick from thence  
So much of man, as comes to common sense.  
Such things as he, have nothing else of worth,  
But place and title for to set them forth.  
Just like a Dwarf dressed up in Giant's clothes,  
Bigger he'd seem, the lesser still he shows;  
Or like small Statuas on huge Basis set,  
Their highth's but only makes them less great.   

Of a Worthy Noble man: Or, William Duke of Newcastle.  
BUt now behold a Nobleman indeed,  
Such as w'admire in story when we read;  
Who does not proudly look that you should doff  
Your hat, and make a reverence twelvescore of:  
Nor takes exceptions, if at every word  
You call him not his Grace, or else my Lord?  
But does appear a hundred times more great  
By his neglect of't, than by keeping state.  
He knows Civility and Courtesy,  
Are chiefest signs of true Nobility;  
And that which gains them truest honourers,  
Is their own Virtues, not their Ancestors.  
By which through all degrees that he has past,  
Of Viscount, Earl, Marquis, and Duke at last,  
H'as always gained the general esteem  
Of honouring those, more than they honoured him.   

On the Lady Rockingham's Nursing her Children herself.  
HOw like to Charity this Lady stands,  
With one Child sucking, t'other in her hands:  
Whilst bounteous Nature, Mother of us all,  
Of her fair Breasts is not more Liberal!  
Those Ladies but half-mothers' are at best,  
Who give their Womb, whilst they deny their Breast;  
And none deserve that name, but such as you,  
Who bring their Children forth, & nurse them too.  
Mirror of Mothers! in whom all may see  
By what you are, what others ought to be,  
Ready like Pelicans for their young ones good,  
To give their very lives and vital blood.  
For so, if milk be blood, but clothed in white,  
You show yourself great strafford's daughter right  
Equally ready both forth ' public good,  
You for to give your milk, and he his blood   

To her Noble Sister, The Lady Arabella Wentworth.  
TO your fair Sex, y'are best Example still,  
Of following good, and of declining ill:  
Who full as pure, and as umblemish go  
In this foul Worlk, as Ermines on the Snow;  
By never stirring foot upon the way,  
Without first ask what will people say?  
Teaching th' unwary, if they walk not clean,  
The fault's not in the World so much as them:  
By which besides, that rare receipt y'ave got,  
To silence Rumour, and stop Slanders Throat.  
Whence you, and your Illustrious Sister are  
Each in their several kinds without compare;  
You for a matchless Virgin, she a Wife;  
The great examples of a virtuous life.   

In one who slandered a fair and virtuous Lady.  
THou enemy of all that's fair and bright,  
As Fowls of darkness are unto the light.  
Monster of Monsters! Basilisk of spite!  
That killst with Tongue, as t'other does with sight.  
Slanderer of Ladies, and of them the best,  
thoust done an act, which all men must detest!  
BeautiesBeauties a thing Divine, and he that would  
Wrong that, would wrong Divinity if he could:  
Who takes my purse, does but as Robbers do;  
Who takes my Fame, robs me, and kills me too:  
And with his venumous Tongue, and poisonous breath,  
Would if he could, even kill us after death.  
But I mistake, it is no infamy,  
To be calumniated by such as thee:  
Thou rather praisest us against thy will,  
Like him who cured by chance, whom he would kill.  
" For 'tis the same thing (rightly understood)  
" To be dispraised by th' bad, as praised by th' good.   

To a Lady Too confident of her Innocence.  
MAdam, that you are Innocent I know,  
But th' world wants innocence to think you so;  
That's all so vicious grown, it won't allow,  
That any can be fair and virtuous now.  
In Satur's days, perhaps it might fuffice,  
When to be innocent, was to be wise:  
But now without the Serpent's wisdom too,  
The Innocence of the Dove will hardly do:  
Go get you some more powerful defence,  
For Virtue then, besides your Innocence:  
" For Innocence, but Virtue is unarmed,  
" The more you trust unto't, the more y''re harmed.   

The Lady's name in Enigma.  
HEr first name somewhat of Elysium ha●,  
Her second is in a more mystic phrase;  
That colour which shows venerable age,  
And does i'th' morning a fair day presage:  
Unriddle now, and tell whose name this is,  
O● forfeit a discretion if you miss.   

To Mr. Bernard Howard, Brother to the Duke of Norfolk.  
I Grant you Sir, I have a mind unfit  
For my low fortune, much too high for it:  
But sure you'll grant 'tis better have it so,  
Than for high fortune, t'have a mind too low;  
By that, a man is elevated to  
An Angel's height, attained by only few:  
By this the Noble Soul is even depressed  
Unto the Vulgar, almost to the Beast.  
I'm none of these same cringing things that stoops,  
Just like a Tumbler when he vaults through hoops,  
Or Daw or Magpie, when at first it pecks,  
Alternately their tails above their becks.  
I care not for high place, nor can I raise  
Myself unto●t by base unworthy ways;  
And if wealth in as base unworthy lie,  
For me, let low minds stoop for't, mine's too high.  
Nor care I what the ignorant vulgar say,  
For being not of their number, nor their way:  
They do but talk, and can't in judgement sit,  
Nor lies it in their verge to judge of it.  
I put myself upon the only few,  
That is, the best and worthiest, such as you.   

Of a happy life.  
WHo e'er would live a happy life indeed,  
And wholly be from care & trouble freed,  
Must first stand well with God, & then with Man,  
Must have as little buceness as he can;  
Must care for nothing, that he cannot have,  
And nothing others can deprive him of.  
And above all must fly ambition,  
To be to great Men, or to Princes known.  
For who lives so, no Princes smile nor frown,  
Can either raise him up, or cast him down;  
And neither hopes to rise, nor fears to fall,  
Does live the best and happiest life of all.   

Of Clorinda's Excellence.  
AS when the Sun appears, the Birds of night  
Make haste away, and all are put to flight:  
So when the bright Clorinda does appear,  
All wanton Lovers fly the sight of her:  
To whom, to talk of Love were high offence,  
Who's so wrapped up in every Excellence,  
As i'th' unfoulding of them one by one,  
You never should to only Women come.  
Love is for meaner Beauties, such as theirs,  
In whom there nothing else but Sex appears:  
But as for her, who ever dares aspire  
Farther, then for to reverence and admire,  
Ixion's fate to such should be allowed,  
Who steed of juno, but embraced a cloud;  
And thy in Justice, only should invent,  
To punish them, Ixion's punishment.   

On the equal mixture of blood and water, After letting blood of Madamoiselle de Beauvais.  

Qust. OF this just mixture and equality,  
Of water & blood, what should the reason be?   

Ans. The Reason's clear, forced to part with her,  
Each drop of blood for grief did shed a tear.    

On Cicilannas' blushing When the King beheld her.  
SO Roses blush, when looked on by the Sun,  
As she, when by the King she's looked upon;  
And so of all fair things we nothing see,  
More fair in Nature, than the Sun and She.  
If things take name from their Original,  
We well her blushes, Royal ones may call;  
And if w'ave lost the Royal purple's stain,  
It in her Cheeks may well be found again.  
So, as 'tis sign the Sun is drawing near,  
When fair Aurora blushing does appear:  
To see her blushing when she sees him come,  
You'd say she were Aurora, he the Sun.   

In small-Beer.  
NOw pox & plague to boot on this same small-  
Beer, we may well the Devil's Iulip call:  
Distilled from alembic of some Lapland witch,  
With Northwinds- bellows blowing in her breech;  
Or stolen of some cold Hag o'th' Marshes, who  
Than water never better Liquor knew:  
A penitential drink for none by right,  
But those i'th' morning, who were drunk o'er night:  
Sure 'twas the poison (as the Learned think)  
They gave condemned Socrates to drink:  
Or that, the Macedonian drank, so cold,  
As nothing but an Ass' houff could hold.  
They were deceived, it was not Niobes moan,  
But drinking small-Beer, turned her unto stone.  
And 'tis that infallibly which now has made  
All Charity so cold, and th' World so bad.  
If then Divines would mend it, let them preach  
Against small-Beer only, and no Doctrine teach;  
But drinking wine, and then you soon should see,  
All in Religion easily would agree.  
This were a Doctrine worthy of their heat  
And furious beating th' Pulpit till they swear.   

In the Smallpox.  
THou greatest enemy that Beauty has!  
The very Goth and Vandal of a face;  
On which thou makest as foul or fouler work,  
Than does thy cousin Meezles upon Pork.  
One of those Devils, which by power Divine,  
Cast out of man once, went to th'herd of Swine,  
And giving them the Pox, art come again  
To play the Devil, as thou didst with men?  
To bid a Plague upon thee now, that curse  
Thou anticipates already, for thou'rt worse,  
Or great Pox on thee, we should curse but ill,  
For thou'rt more great, in being the small- Pox still.  
But get thee gone, and soon too, or I know  
A way I'm sure will quickly make thee go;  
But send for Doctor— and you'll see  
We with a vengeance shall be rid of thee.   

To Mistress Davies, On her excellent dancing.  
Dear Miss,  
WHo would not think to see thee dance so light,  
Thou were't all air, or else all soul and spirit?  
Or who'd not say, to see thee only tread,  
Thy feet were Feathers, others feet but lead?  
Athlanta well could run, and Hermes flee,  
But none ere moved more gracefully than thee:  
And Cicres charmed with wand, & Magic Lore,  
But none like thee ere charmed with feet before.  
Thou Miracle! whom all men must admire  
To see thee move like air, and mount like fire!  
Those who would follow thee, or come but nigh  
To thy perfection, must not dance, but fly.   

The Patron's Lives, To the Lord of, etc.  
MY Lord, if you'll attention give,  
I'll tell you how the Patrons live:  
First of all, they neither care,  
Nor for Clock, nor Calendar.  
Next they ne'er desire to know,  
How affairs o'th' world do go.  
Above all they ne'er resort  
To the busy Hall nor Court:  
Where most men do nothing else  
But trouble others, and themselves.  
All the business they look after,  
Only is their sport and laughter,  
With a friend, and cheerful cup,  
Merrily to dine and sup  
Hear good Music, see a Play;  
Thus they pass the time away:  
And if you like our living thus,  
Come my Lord and live with us.   

On a Hector, Beaten and draged away by the Constable.  
STill to be dragged! still to beaten thus!  
Hector I fear thy name is ominous;  
And thou for fight didst but ill provide,  
To take thy name thus from the beaten side:  
To have Watchmen still like band of Myrmidons,  
Beat thee with Halberds down, and break thy boans?  
And every petty Constable thou meets,  
Achillis-like to drag thee through the Streets?  
Poor Hector! when th' art beaten blind and lame,  
I hope thou'lt learn to take another name.   

Of an Epicure.  
AN Epicure is one of those,  
No God besides his belly knows;  
And that Religion best does think,  
Where a he finds best meat and drink.  
Who for his Palate and his Gust,  
Has quite forgot all other Lust,  
And hugs a bottle, as he would  
A Mistress, when the Wine is good.  
Who lays about him like a Giant,  
When he finds a morsel friand;  
And so long has crammed his gut,  
He's nothing else from head to foot.  
When you such an one do meet,  
Or in Tavern, or in Street;  
By his bulk you may be sure,  
Such an one's an Epicure.   

To Misa, made Anno 52.  

NOw what a Devil Misa makes,  
Thee with such eyes behold me still?  
'Cause from thee Time thy good looks takes,  
Must I therefore have thy ill?   

I prithee Misa don't behold  
Me thus, as if I were thy foe;  
For howsoever thou art old,  
I am not Time that made thee so.   

So rather than to quarrel with me,  
As if 'twere I had done thee wrong:  
Go quarrel with thy age, I prithee,  
Whose fault 'tis thou hast lived so long.   

However for me, thou well mayst spare  
Thy Anger, and thy frowns may cease:  
Who for thy good looks little care,  
Does for thy bad ones care much less.    

To the same, Whilst she'd needs look fair and young.  

LEt Autumns paint her withered leaves,  
And Winter die his Snowy hair;  
Yet he's a Fool that not perceives  
They either died, and painted ar.   

So while thou'lt needs look young again,  
And still seem fair unto the sight;  
Misa thy labour's all in vain,  
Like his would wash the Ethiope white.   

Who looked well in King James' reign,  
And in King Charles', old appeared,  
Will hardly now look young again,  
When th' Commonwealth has got a beard.   

Then Misa follow my advice,  
And leaving off thy bootless care;  
Strive rather to gain hearts than eyes,  
And to appear more good than fair.    

Good counsel to an Enemy,  
NO more for shame! but let's be friends again,  
And let's remember w'ar not beasts but men.  
Beasts out of natural instinct fight, but we  
Should out of natural instinct now agree:  
This baiting one another, is but just  
Like Bear-baiting, where those who seem the most  
Delighted with't, nor love the Dog nor Bear,  
But only th' sport to see them rend and tear  
Each other, and themselves who'd harm and hurt  
As beasts do, only to make others sport?  
No more for shame then, let's be friends again,  
And still remember weare not ●●asts, but men.   

The Liberty.  

FRee as I was born I'll live,  
So should every wiseman do;  
Only Fools they are who give,  
Their freedoms to I know not who▪   

If my weakness cannot save it,  
But it must go, what ere it cost;  
Some more strong than I shall have it,  
Who can keep what I have lost?   

Still some excellency should be,  
More i'th' Mr. than the Slave,  
Which in others till I see,  
None my liberty shall have.   

Nor is't excellency enough,  
Time or chance can mar or make;  
But't shall be more lasting stuff  
Shall from me my freedom take.   

Those to whom I'll give away,  
That which none too dear can buy,  
Shall be made of better clay,  
And have better souls than I    

To the Lord John Bellasis.  
'TIs not to honour, but be honoured by't,  
I mention you, my Lord, in what I writ.  
Since to my Book can be no greater Fame,  
No● greater honour unto me again:  
Then to have him, who has the Fame to be  
His Country's honour, thus to honour me.   

To the Lady Elizabeth Gage, On her Marriage and Conversation to the C. Religion.  
NEver was greater Testimony given  
(Madam) how Marriages are made in Heaven  
Then is by yours that both Religion had,  
For making it, and hath religion made:  
So as if Marriges be holy all,  
We this of yours may doubly holy call,  
In which y'ave doubly offered up your vows,  
Both to your heavenly, and your earthly Spouse:  
Whence 'tis a joyful one indeed, has made  
Not only Men, but even the Angels glad;  
To whom it does more properly belong,  
Than unto us to sing your Nuptial Song.  
Which whilst above i'th' higher world they do,  
We here below congratulate them and you.   

To the Lord George Barkley.  
SInce as by clear experience we see,  
Virtue is only true Nobility.  
There's none gives greater proof of it than you  
(My Lord) that your Nobility is true:  
And that it may so continue, you provide,  
By adding to't true Piety beside.  
" For Piety is but Virtue died in grain,  
Can ne'er change colour, nor take spot or slain.  
Such Courtier's Heaven desires, & such Kings should  
Desire too, if they'd have them great and good▪  
Happy the whilst (my Lord) are such as you,  
Fit both for th' heavenly Court, and earthly too.   

Of Friends and Foes.  
TWo Painters (friend and foe) once went about  
To paint Antigones whose one eye was out,  
which t'on to show, and t'other for to hid;  
That turned his blind, and this his better side.  
Just so 'twixt Friends and Foes men are expressed,  
By halfs set forth, whilst they conceal the rest:  
None, as their Friends or Foes, depaint them would,  
Being ever half so bad, or half so good.   

On the Riches o'th' Barbadoss, to Mr. H. D. Esq  
HOw Rich Barbadoes is of other things,  
We well may see by th' wealthy Trade it brings:  
How rich it is in men, we well may see,  
By binging fourth brave Drax such men as thee.   

On the Marriage of the Lord Brakley, With the Lady Elizabeth Cranfield, made An. 65.  

THe fairest Flower of Cranfields' Race,  
And noblest branch of Edgerton,  
Accompanied with every Grace,  
By Hymen now are joined in one.   

And now the Nuptial rites are past;  
In passing o'er the rest was done:  
Let's to the Bridal Chamber haste,  
Where th' Bridegroom longs I'm sure to come,   

Go happy Youth, and taste a-bed,  
The pleasures far Eliza yields;  
By far surpassing all that's said,  
O'th' pleasures o'th' Elysian Fields.   

And fair Eliza ben't afraid  
O'th' Bug-bears of a Married life;  
Those fears which haunt you now a Maid,  
Will vanish soon when y'are a Wife.   

And in their place such joys shall leave,  
When once you are a Mother grown:  
No humane thought can ere conceive,  
Or ere b' expressed by humane Tongue!    

On his Arara. Drowned in his return from Brasil.  
THou how so like unto the Phoenix were't  
In shape and plumes, and almost every par▪  
That so unlike should be your destiny,  
That should by Fire, and thou by Water die!   

Consolation To Poor Porters.  
TAke courage Porter, every one must bear  
Somewhat or other whilst they tarry here;  
And every one (if that be good) are free,  
As well as thou, o'th' Porter's Company.  
Nor is't so base a Trade perhaps as thou  
Imaginst it, since if that saying be true:  
Great honours, are great burdens we may call  
The Porter's Trade, the honourablest of all.   

Out of Ronsard, Of a happy life.  
CEluy n'est pas heureux, qu' on monstre par larue,  
Que le peuple cognoit, que le peuple sal●e;  
Mais heureux est celuy, que la Glo●re n'es point,  
Que ne cognoit personne, & qu' on ne cognoit point.   

The same in English.  
HE is not happy, they point at i'th' Streets,  
Whom the people does know, and salutes as it meets:  
But happy is he who ambition has none,  
Nor others to know, nor by others be known.   

To certain Ladies, Who said they like not your old Wits.  
LAdies, you like not your old Wits, you say,  
And what new ones are those you like I pray?  
Perhaps y'ave squeemish stomaches just like those▪  
Loath wont fare, anded have some new quelque choose.  
And 'tis the nature of Green-sickness Wits,  
As 'tis of your Green-sickness Appetits:  
To● in the souls, t'other the bodies food,  
To l●ke the bad, and to mislike the good:  
O● just as Heresy at first begun,  
With crying down the old Religion,  
So 'tis a kind of Heresy in you,  
To cry down old Wits, and cry up the new▪  
If so, Ladies, o'th' new say what you will,  
With your good leave, I'm for the old ones still.   

Of Friends and Acquaintance.  
WHo 'twixt Acquaintances and Friends does make▪  
No difference, is just like him does take  
Each peeble-sto 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, of which enough are found  
In each Highway, for some Rich Diamond.  
A Friend's a Cabinet-piece, and to be sought  
All the World over, nor can too dear be bought,  
Whilst tother's a cheap trivial thing, you meet,  
And take up when you please in every street.  
Believe not all who friendship then protest,  
But prove them first, and after choose the best:  
For he who every one a friend does call,  
In time of need shall find no friend at all.   

The Ant.  

LIttle thinkest thou poor Ant who there  
With so much pains in so short time▪  
A grain or two to th' Cell dost bear,  
There's greater work i'th' world than thine▪   

I'th' small Republic too at home,  
Where thou'rt perhaps some Magistrate;  
Little thinkest thou, when thou dost come,  
There's greater in the world than that.   

Nor is't such wonder now in thee,  
No more o'th' world, nor things dost know,  
That all thy mind o'th' ground should be,  
And thoughts on things so poor and low.   

But that man so base mind should bear  
To fix it on a clot of Ground;  
As there no other business were,  
Nor greater world for to be found.   

He so much of the man does want,  
As metamorphozed quite again,  
Whilst thou'rt but man turned grovelling an't,  
Such grovelers seem but aunts turned men.    

How to bear neglects.  
LEt it not trouble thee, when any would,  
Put a neglect upon thee, if they could:  
But mind it not, and thy neglect will be  
More great of them, than theirs can be of thee.   

On Madam Master.  
OF Madam it may well be said,  
●hat Madam's head has little Wit,  
When Madam's Husband is head,  
And Madam makes a Fool of it.   

On Doctor Cornuto.  
WHo so famous was of late,  
He was with Finger pointed at;  
What cannot learning do, and single state?  
Being married, he so famous grew,  
As he was pointed at with two,  
What cannot learning and a Wife now do?   

On Simple.  
SImple made much ado, and much offence  
He ●ook, for saying he scarce had common sense;  
Till saying he had, and very common too,  
Simple was pleased, and made no more ado.   

On Married Ministers.  
IF both i'th' Spiritual and Temporal War,  
Their Wives but Baggage of the Armies are;  
We well may say, your Ministers who Mary,  
Whilst others fight, do with the Baggage tarry.   

In pravos Aulicos.  
IF▪ as they say Courts are like Heaven, & Kings  
Like Gods, sure Cour●iers should be holy things;  
Like Angels, from which state when once they fall,  
As Devils did, the Devil take them all.   

In Invidum.  
WHen ere thou seest me take delight,  
In any thing thou bursts with spite.  
And so thou dost at every thing,  
That does me good, or profit bring.  
Thou bursts with spite, to see that I  
Am still in noble Company;  
And honour I receive from them,  
Does make thee burst with spite again.  
And if my honour, my delight,  
And profit, makes thee burst with spite;  
And all my good, does prove thy ill,  
I prithee burst with spite of't still.   

Of an Evil Tongued person.  
THou hast so many Tongues as Cerberus, nor  
Seaven-headed Hydra, scarcely could have more:  
The lying, cogging, and dissembling Tongue;  
The spiteful, railing, and malicious one;  
The foul and beastly, the Satirical;  
The lewd, and slanderous one, and above all,  
The scurrilous & profane. Strange! that one should  
Amongst so many Tongues have never a good!   

In eundem.  
WHilst I repay with handsome▪ Railerie,  
Thy base and ugly railing against me:  
Thou call'st me foul-mouthed for't, thyself thou means,  
As those in Lewkners-lane, call Ladies Queans.   

In eundum.  
THe same advantage, thou hast over those,  
Who have some Fame, whilst thou hast none ●o lose;  
As Gamesters have, who play o'th' Tick with one,  
Who has some money, whilst themselves have none.   

In Inimicum.  
SInce all some Enemies needs must have, I'm glad  
That such as thou mine Enemies are made;  
For as I'th' field, the worthiest are best,  
So out o'th' field, still the unworthiest.   

In eundem.  
I See thou art resolved in spite,  
To cry down every thing I writ;  
And I'm resolved in spite of thee,  
To write so, thou ashamed shalt be,  
Both of thy Envy, and thy Spite,  
To cry down every thing I Writ.   

On M. Asoto, An apocryphal Captain.  
IF with the Cynic we away should fling  
Every unuseful, and superfluous thing,  
I nothing know, thou better couldst afford  
To fling away Asoto, than thy sword.   

Of the Application Of these Epigrams.  
WHilst I (on purpose not to have them known)  
Present in Mask and Vizard any one,  
And they themselves, or any else (in fine)  
Shall pluck it off, the fault is theirs, not mine.   

On Sir Querilous Coxcomb.  
There are two sorts, with which he can't agree,  
All that are better, & all are worse than he:  
Do you secure him for the better sort,  
And for the worse I'll secure him for't.   

On a Rich vainglorious Miser.  
THou boasts thy money, and if that be all,  
Thy praise, and commendations is but small;  
For every Cobbler may with industry  
And pains, (in Time) boast that as well as thee:  
Money's like muck, that's profitable while  
IT serves for manuring of some fruitful Soil;  
But on a barren one (like thee) methinks  
'Tis like a Dunghill, that lies still and stinks.   

To one Who desired him not to name him.  
I Wonder why thou shouldst be so ashamed,  
Amongst such noble persons to be named!  
Unless thou thinks thee unworthy of it? if so,  
thoust reason for't, and I'm of thy mind too.   

To one Who desired him to name her.  
YOu'd have me name you, & I wo●d not name  
Any, but only those of better Fame:  
I prithee then, that we two may agree,  
Go bring a better Fame along with thee.   

Against Covetousness.  
WHilst those for wealth do sell their liberty,  
Call't Angling for the golden-Fish, for me;  
Loving my liberty as I do, I look  
Upon't as fishing with a Golden-hook.  
And he who spends his life in getting wealth,  
And to increase his Store consumes himself;  
Does just to me as very a Fool appear,  
As he, sold's horse, to buy him provender.   

To one that shall be nameless▪  
TO those from whom, I for reward can't look  
So much as comes to th' binding of my Book;  
Much less the printing, why should I present  
It to 'em, unless it be out of compliment?  
And I don't like such complement● as those,  
Where one gets nothing, and is sure to lose.   

To the same.  
I'M in great straits! for first I do believe,  
Should I ask any thing, you'd nothing give;  
Then if I should not, you'd ne'er think of me,  
What should I do in this extremity?   

Why I writ not of Love.  
YOu fain would have me writ of Love, & say,  
It may be chaste and virtuous, so it may:  
But howsoever virtuous and chaste it be,  
It yet does come so nigh unchast●●●●  
And is so stiep and slippery a precipiece,  
One easily thence does slide and ●all to vice.  
Wherefore let who's list writ of it for me,  
I'll keep me, if I can, from th' danger free.   

L'Envoye To the Readers.  
Author's use to make you feasts,  
Books the fare, and Readers guests;  
judgement, Caterer and Wit,  
The Cook for the a seasoning it:  
All which when on the Table set,  
The Author who provides you meat,  
Does pray you hearty to fall  
Unto't, and says, y'are welcome all.    

THEATRICAL EPIGRAMS.  
The Third BOOK.  

Of Plays and Actors.  
YOu rail at Plays, theyare idle things you say,  
Faith so's the world, for all is but a Play;  
And difference 'twixt them, there is none at all,  
But t'on's the Copy, t'other th' Original:  
And as the World is but a Theatre, so  
All that are in it are but Actors too;  
Let none despise then the dramatic Art,  
Since none that's in the world, but Acts their part.  
This of the Stage, then let's at last conclude,  
For satisfying the ignorant multitude;  
That of all Recreations, when well used  
It is the best, as worst when 'tis abused.   

Of Poets.  
OUr lives we trust to the Physicians care,  
For manners, Poets our Physicians are;  
Their way to profit and delight, their End  
To commend Virtue, Vice to discommend,  
Of which unless they take especial care,  
They rather Poisoners than Physicians are:  
And just like Poisoners too, should have their hire,  
To be themselves and poison cast i'th' fire.   

On Sir Common Critic.  
WHilst thou on every thing so fast dost spend  
Thy judgement, as twoud never have an end.  
Prithee take heed thou spendst it not so fast,  
To leave thyself no judgement at the last.   

To the judicious Censurer.  
BUt unto thee who know'st the Rules of Art,  
And judgst not out of ignorance, but desert;  
Whose head like empty balances is not swayed,  
But all things there judiciously are weighed.  
There's none that's wise, but willingly would submit  
All that he writes, to judge and censure it;  
And should far more prefer thy judgement then,  
That of whole theatres full of other men;  
Who think perhaps that difference, there is none  
'Twixt judging and condemning every one;  
While th' wise do only know to judge like you,  
For to condemn, that every Fool can do.   

On the Cinical Censurer.  
'TIs but a cruel sport thou hast to go  
To theatres, as to Bear-baitings they do,  
And Bandog-like to fall upon the Play,  
Woory the Poet, and then go their way:  
As some great Anter, thou forsooth hast done,  
When every day dogs do as great an one.   

On the death Of Sir William Davenant.  

NOw Davenant's dead, the Stage will mourn,  
And all to Barbarism turn;  
Since he it was this latter age,  
Who chief civilised the Stage.   

He knew's decorum, and the Art,  
To fit his properties to's part,  
His part unto the Actors, and  
All to the drama he'd in hand.   

And if the Stage or Theatre be  
A little world, 'twas only he,  
Who Atlas-like supported it,  
By force of Industry and Wit.   

Not only Dedalus arts he knew,  
But even Promethius' too;  
And living Machine's made of men,  
As well as dead ones for the Scene.   

All● this, and more he did beside;  
Which having finished he died;  
If he may properly be said  
To die, whose Fame will ne'er be dead.    

Of his Plays.  
AS for his Plays, the Unfortuats Lovers,  
The depth of Tragedy discovers;  
In's Love and Honour you may see,  
The height of Tragicomedy.  
And for his Wits, the Comic fire  
In none yet ever flamed up higher.  
But coming to his Siege of Rhodes,  
It out goes all the rest by odds,  
And somewhat's in't that does out do  
Both Ancients and the Moderns too.  
And thus you see h'as left behind,  
In's Plays, the best of every kind.   

On Mr. Abraham Cow.  
COwley's not dead, immortal is his Muse,  
Or if he be, a Phoenix he's become;  
Who unique in his kind, his life renews  
By animating's Ashes in his Tomb.   

The same in French.  
NOn, Cowley n'est pas mort, sa Muse est Immortelle  
Ou biensi Cowley est mort, e'est un Phenix nouveau,  
Qui n'ayant son pareil, soy mesme ronovelle  
Et suruit asa cendre animant son Tomb a●.   

To Mr. John Dreyden.  
DReyden the Muse's darling and delight,  
Than whom none ever flew so high a flight.  
Some have their veins so drowsy, as from earth,  
Their Muses only seem to have ta'en their birth.  
Others but water-Poets are, have gone  
No farther than to th' Fount of Helicon:  
And they're but airy ones, whose Muse soars up  
No higher than to mount Parnassus' top;  
Whilst thou, with thine, dost seem to have mounted higher,  
Than he who fetched from Heaven Celestial fire:  
And dost as far surpass all others, as  
Fire does all other Elements surpass.   

On a bungling dramatic Poet.  
SInce thou must needs write Plays, it is thy fate,  
And ours to be so plagued with them of late;  
We are as feared as of the plague, and more,  
When we but see thy Bills upon the Door;  
It seems that every one their madness has,  
Actors to Act them, we to see thy Plays;  
And thou to write them, question which of all,  
We may the most and greatest madness call;  
For curing which, Apollo must be fain,  
To let thee blood in the Poetic vain;  
And give to us, and th' Actor's Hel●bor,  
If ere they act, or ere we ●ee them more   

The Author of a good Play not Acted, To the Author of an ill one Acted.  
THeir Wit & Iudgement's small, we well may say  
By th' Acting, or not Acting, judge the Play;  
For 'tis ●ot th' Acting (rightly understood)  
But writing makes the Play, or had, or good;  
If good (like mine) then 'tis the Actor's fault,  
And not the Writers, if they act it not.  
But if't be bad (like thine) then if they do  
'Tis both the Actors fault, and Writers too.   

Of the difference Betwixt the Ancient and Modern Plays.  
IF any one the difference would know,  
Betwixt the Ancient Plays and Modern now;  
In Ancient Times none ever went away,  
But with a glowing bosom from a Play,  
With somewhat they had heard, or seen, so fired,  
They seem to be Celestially inspired▪  
Now you have only some few light conceits,  
Like Squibs & Crackers, neither warms nor heats;  
And sparks of Wit as much as you'd desire,  
But nothing of a true and solid fire:  
So hard 'tis now for any one to write  
With Johnson's fire, or Fletcher's 〈◊〉 & spirit:  
Much less inimitable shakspears way,  
Promethian-like to animate a play.   

Valediction To the Stage and Dramatic Poetry.  

I Who so much have loved thee heretofore,  
When thou were't chaste, do love thee now no more,  
But like some common Mrs. give thee over.   

By which all those who blamed me for't, may see  
I only loved thee for thy chastity,  
Which now thoust lost, thoust lost a friend of me.   

And as for those who have debauched thee so,  
I publicly declare myself their foe,  
As by this following piece the world shall know.    

In your scurrilous and obscene Dramatic Poets.  
SHame and disgrace o'th' Actors and the Age,  
Poet more fit for th' Brothel than the Stage!  
Who makes thy Muse a Strumpet, and she thee  
Bawd to her lust, and so you well agree:  
Bawdry however washed is foul enough,  
But thou dost writ such foul unwashed stuff,  
Thou only seems to have taken all the pain,  
To write for White stones-parke, or Lewknors-lane:  
And Water-poets we have had good store,  
But never Kennel one's till thee before.  
What Devil made the write? for sure there's none  
Could write so bad, without the help of one,  
Which till't be exercised, and quite cast out,  
thou'rt only fit to write for th' common rout;  
And with thy impudent lines, and scurrilous stile,  
To make Fools laugh, & wisemen blush the while.   

On the spoiling and mangling of one of his Plays.  
ALas poor Play! for never orphans  
By frantic hands was torn & mangled thus!  
Better I'd barren been, for this is worse,  
Then t'have the Fairies steal ones child from nurse,  
And make a Changeling of it. But 'tis in vain,  
For things are past prevention to complain.  
'Tis th' common fate of Poet's nowadays,  
T' have such as these mangle & spoil their Plays;  
And there is scarcely any one that escapes,  
Th' unskilful tampering of these Poet-Apes;  
For which, all th'harm that I could wish to them,  
May, never Poet write for them again:  
But they be forced to Act old Plays like those  
For want of new, are forced to wear old clothes;  
And come o'th' Stage all tattered and poor,  
In old cast suits, which Field and Burbadge woar.   

On our late Prologues and Epologues.  
AS Horse-coursers their Horses set to sale,  
With Ribonds on their Foreheads and their Tail:  
So all our Poet's gallantry nowadays  
Is in the Prologues, and Epilogues of their Plays.   

On the Play of the life of Pyrocles, Prince of Tyre.  
Are longa, vita brevis as they say,  
But who inverts that saying made this Play.   

PROLOGUE, For the revival of his damoisels a la mode, Acted by his Majesty's Servants.  
THis Play of ours, just like some Vest or jup,  
Worn twice or thriee, was carefully laid up:  
And after for sometime it so had lain,  
Is now brought forth, as good as new again;  
For having the honour of our Master's sight,  
And happiness of giving him delight,  
Our Author thought his business was done,  
But great part of our business is to come:  
He only looked after the pleasure of it,  
But we must look as well into our profit;  
He cared but for an Audience or two,  
But that on our account will hardly do.  
And to conclude, he had his end again,  
In pleasing those who only saw it then:  
But we must please you now, or we'd be sorry,  
Since only for that end w'ave kept it for ye.   

The Epologue.  
ANd now what think ye o'th' damoisels a la mode?  
We hope none grudges money th'ave bestowed,  
In seeing them, or if that any here  
Does think for seeing them, they have paid too dear,  
We wish that for the mode and damoisels too,  
They ne'er may dearer pay, than now they do.   

PROLOGUE, Intended for his Physician against his will, In a Fool's Coat.  
I'M sure to see me thus for Prologue stand,  
You'll think some fooling business is in hand;  
A thing so common now, as if you mind it  
In every Coat as well as mine you find it.  
And now since fooling is so much in fashion,  
This we'll say forth ' Stages commendation;  
That of all sorts of Fooling nowadays,  
The best and innocentest is that of Plays:  
For this our Play (as in the Bill you'll see)  
'Tis called a Farce, and not a Comedy,  
'Cause 'tis an Antic, Drolling-piece affords,  
You mimic gesture, to your comic words:  
And just as jigs to otheir Airs, so this  
Is unto other Plays and Comedies:  
'Tis merrier than a Comedy by halph,  
And does not only make you smile but laugh:  
T'oneon stirs up mirth in you, t'other comes after,  
And spite o' your teeth makes you burst forth in laughter.  
Those who love mirth and laughter than may stay,  
And have their fills of't ere they go away,  
And those who would have serious Plays in Rhyme  
May go their ways, and come another time.   

Songs in Plays. Chorus. In his Play of Love's Kingdom, Incensing and Lustrating the place.  
FAr hence be all profane, whilst here  
With solemn Rites thus every year,  
To render every Lover true,  
We Element Loves Kingdom new.  
That no breast too strongly beat,  
We give his Fires a temperate heat;  
We give its Waters virtuous force  
To slack them, taken in their source;  
Fog of perjured vows and oaths,  
Which fair Truth and Candour loathes:  
We purge the Air from, and the Earth  
From every foul and monstrous birth:  
For as some Lands their Monsters fear,  
Unruly Lust's our Monster here.  
As others poisonous beasts molest,  
So Avarice is our poisonous beast.  
From which when once a land is freed,  
Then Loves Kingdom 'tis indeed.   

Invocation of silence in the same Play.  
SAcred silence thou that art  
Floodgate of the dieper heart;  
Off spring of a heavenly kind,  
Frost o'th' mouth, and thaw o'th' mind.  
Admirations readyest Tongue,  
Leave thy Desert shades among,  
Reverend Hermit's hallowed Cells,  
Where retired devotion dwells,  
With thy Enthusiasms come,  
Cease this Nymph, and strike her dumb.   

Yhe Commutation Of Love and Death's Darts.  
LOve and Death o'th' way once meeting,  
Having past a friendly greeting,  
Sleep their weary eyelids closing,  
Lay them down themselves reposing.  
Love whom divers cares molested,  
Could not sleep, but whilst death rested:  
All in haste away he posts him,  
But his haste too dearly costs him.  
For it chanced that going to sleeping,  
Both had given their Darts in keeping  
Unto night, who Errors Mother,  
Blindly knowing not t'on from tother;  
Gave Love, Deaths, and ne'er perceived it,  
Whilst as blindly Love received it.  
Since which time their Darts confounding,  
Love now kills instead of wounding:  
Death our hearts with sweetness filling,  
Gently wounds instead of killing.   

The description of noble Love.  
NOw Lovers, in a word to tell  
What Noble Love is, mark me well.  
It is the Counterpoise that minds  
To fair and virtuous things inclines,  
It is the gust we have and sense  
Of every noble excellence.  
It is the pulse by which we know,  
Whether our souls have life or no;  
And such a soft and gentle fire,  
As kindles and inflames desire;  
Until it all like Incense burns,  
And unto melting sweetness turns.   

Song.  

CElia weeps, and those fair Eyes,  
Which were diamonds before;  
Whose precious value none could surprise,  
Desolves into a pearly shower.   

Celia smiles, and straight does reader  
Her Eyes diamonds again;  
Which after shine with greater splendour,  
As the Sun does after Rain.   

And if the Reason now you'd know,  
Why Pearls and Diamonds fall and rise;  
Their prices just go high and low,  
As they are worn in Celia's Eyes.    

Song. The mock Lover.  

OF all your Fools the Lover  
Does greatest folly discover,  
who's always crying and weeping,  
Like Schoolboys after a whipping,  
To see a great Lubber  
To whine and to blubber  
And hear them cry out upon Cupid,  
With gesture so antic,  
You'd think he were frantic,  
There's nothing in Nature so stupid.   

2.  
Your natural Fools we pity,  
And delight in those that are witty:  
But he who's a Fool for love,  
Nor delight nor pity does move;  
These only are Toys  
For Girls and for Boys,  
And never move to compassion;  
When Cupid has Eyes,  
And Lovers are wise,  
They'll love in another fashion.    

The mock Marriage, A drolling Song.  
YOu're to be marred or married, as they say,  
To day or to morrow, to morrow or to day:  
But be it, as they say,  
To morrow or to day,  
For your comfort yet I pray,  
Take this by the way,  
Your married folk are fickle,  
Your marirage ware is brittle,  
And 'twixt Merryage,  
And Marriage,  
Is difference not a little.   

A Rural Dialogue.  Cho. 
ONce a Nymph & Shepherd meeting,  
Never passed there such a greeting;  
Nor was heard 'twixt such a pair,  
Plainer dealing than was there:  
He paid women, and she men,  
He slights her, she him again.  
Words with words were over thwarted,  
Thus they meet, and greet, and parted.  Sh. 
He who never takes a wife.  
Lives a most contented life.  Ni. 
She her whole contentment loses,  
Who a Husband ever chooses.  Si. 
I, of women know too much,  
Ere to care for any such  Ni. 
I of men too much do know,  
To care where ere you do no.  Sh. 
Since y'are resolved farewell,  
Look you lead not Apes in Hell.  Ni. 
Better lead Apes thither then,  
Thither to be led by men.  Sh. 
They to Paradise would lead you,  
Be but ruled, by what they bid ye.  Ni. 
To Fool's Paradise 'tis true,  
Would they but be ruled by you.  Cho. 
Thus they parted as they met,  
Hard to say who best did get;  
Or of Love was least afraid,  
When being parted either said.  Ambo 
Love, what Fools thou mak'st of men  
When theyare in thy power, but when  
From thy power they once are free?  
Love, what a Fool men make of thee?   

Facetious and drolling EPIGRAMS.  

The Exchange Maid.  
MAid, if Gallants you'd invite  
By whole dossens to your sight,  
Get you to th' Exchange, and there,  
Of all Trades tu●n Linniner:  
For your Gallants most love Linen,  
Since 'tis that they must do sin in;  
And is ever next the skin,  
Where does chief lie the sin.  
Then still keep your Tongue a walking,  
(For they much delight in talking)  
And with Repartees so quick,  
Give them word for word so thick;  
None that plays at Shuttlecock,  
May sooner give them stroke for stroke;  
Still provided that your main  
Design, be only for your gain;  
And 'twixt buying and bestowing,  
Keep their purses still going:  
But to their Chambers ne'er go home,  
If to your Shop you'd have them come:  
Since, if once they get you there,  
Farewell to all your other ware:  
Then put them off with pish and fie,  
When they chance to come too nigh,  
And tell them money buys ('tis true)  
Linen, but matrimony you.  
And of these Rules you need take care,  
But only till you married are,  
And then by privilege of his Crest  
Your Husband cares for all the rest.   

On the fanatics. Or Cross-haters.  
WHo will not be baptised, only because  
In Baptism they make the sign o'th' Cross,  
Showing the whilst how well the Devil and he,  
In loving of the sign o'th' Cross agree.  
Seeing how every one in swimming does,  
Streth forth their arms, & make the sign o'th' Cross:  
Were he to swim, rather than make (I think)  
The sign o'th' Cross, he'd sooner choose to sink.   

On an ill-favoured malicious person, In Burlesques Rhyme.  
TO tell you what— was  
For Beauty both of person and face;  
Her face was good, if with faces at least  
It goes as with Bucklers, the broadest the best;  
And person fair, if for fairness it goes,  
With women at least, as * with Bullocks it does:  
In plainer terms, without mincing the matter,  
She had a face as broad as a platter;  
And person such, as to see her you'd fancy,  
'Twere some Dutch jugg were come from beyond Sea.  
As for the qualities of her interior,  
Which to her outside were nothing inferour.  
She loved not the world, and 'twas less to be pitied,  
Since the world loved not her, and so they were fitted,  
And was so malicious in words and in action,  
As she would set at division and faction;  
First day of their marriage, your husband & wives,  
And children and parents, last day of their lives;   

The biggest the fairest.  
Wherefore I'll end with this Littany on her,  
Lord bless all those who love quietness from her.   

To a Lady who reported he was in love with her, Because he made Verses on her. Made Anno 54.  
CLoris how you your ignorance discover,  
Whilst you mistake a Poet for a Lover?  
Who when he Verses writes, makes love, 'tis true,  
But 'tis unto his Muse, and not to you.  
Know than there's nothing can be more absurd,  
then for to take a Poet at his word;  
Who when he praises, with Hyperbolyes,  
Nothing but Poetry can excuse from lies:  
'Tis the Idea of his Wit and Brain,  
He praises, and not you, then ben't so vain,  
To think that you the subject are of it,  
When 'tis th' Idea of his Brain and Wit.   

To the same grown proud and disdainful for it.  
CLoris, ne'er think that I should whine & cry,  
Since you'll needs change, for your inconstancy:  
Or like the Amorous Knight in the Romance,  
Sinks down for grief, and fall into a Trance;  
But if you needs will change, I'd have you know  
That I can change as easily as you,  
When all the harm that's like to come of it,  
Is, you leave me, I you, and so weare quite:  
I'm like your Glass, or Mirror, that the same  
Face you show it, still shows to you again;  
Smiles when you smile, frowns when you frown, and so  
Does every thing just as it sees you do:  
Then be the same to me you were before,  
Or I will be the same to you no more;  
Who easily fort my pardon can obtain,  
By finding my excuse, in your disdain;  
But how you'll find excuse and pardon now,  
For your disdain the whilst, I do not know.   

On the justice of Peace's making of Marriages, Anno 54.  
NOw just as 'twas in Saturn's Reign;  
The golden Age is returned again;  
And again Astrea from heaven is come,  
When every thing by justice is done.  
Who now, not only in Temporal matters,  
But also in Spiritual looks to our waters;  
And Parson and Vicar have nothing to do,  
When justice has making of Marriager too:  
The name of justice was dreadful before,  
But now 'twill be a hundred times more;  
When we must expect no manner of favour,  
But all stand bound to our good behaviour:  
Our Mittimus now by justice is made,  
And we in sail of Wedlock are laid,  
When instead of bonds, we are bound in a halter,  
And sure to be hanged if ever we falter.  
So every thing does fall out right,  
And that old proverb is verified by't;  
That Marriage and Hanging both go together,  
When justice shall have the ordering of either.   

On the occasion Of his being left alone in the Mulbery-Garden, To wait on all the Ladies of the times. Anno 56.  

1.  
NOw into what times  
Are we fallen for our crimes?  
Or whatever the matter of it may be,  
It does not afford  
So much as a Lord,  
To wait upon a Lady?  
But now all alone,  
A walking they come,  
With no man to wait upon them:  
Your Gallants are grown  
Such Taryers at home,  
A murrain and shame light on them.   

2.  
Is't boldness they lack,  
They are grown so slack,  
Or each turned Woman hater?  
Or money they want?  
That's grown very scant;  
Or what the Devil's the matter?  
But yet we behold  
Them daily more bold,  
And their Lands to Coin they distil ye;  
And then with the money,  
You see how they run ye  
To lose it at Piccardily.   

3.  
Your Country Squire  
I far more admire,  
(If's want of breeding you'll pardon)  
He knows 'tis the fashion  
To give them Collation,  
Who go to the Park and the Garden;  
Whilst he of the Town,  
Is grown such a Clown,  
To wait on them he's unwilling:  
But away he does run,  
When the Ladies do come,  
And all to save his ten shilling.   

4.  
But Ladies you'll see,  
Be ruled by me,  
This gear will soon be amended;  
Upon them but frown,  
When you have them at home,  
And all this quarrel is ended.  
Sharp Hawks you are sure,  
Will come to the lure,  
So for favours in private starve them,  
And straight you'll see,  
In public they'll be  
More ready and glad to deserve them.    

The Conclusion To his MAJESTY.  
VOuchsafe great Sir, on these to cast your sight,  
Made chief for your Majesty's delight,  
By him, has cast off all ambition,  
But only the delighting you alone;  
Counting it highest honour can befall,  
To delight him, who's the delight of all.     


EPIGRAMS DIVINE AND MORAL, DEDICATED To Her Majesty.  
Nunc— cetera ludicra pono.  Hor. 
Printed in the Year 1670.   

TO Her MAJESTY CATHERINE of PORTUGAL, Queen of Great Britain, etc.  
MADAM,  
AS never any Stranger was more obliged than I, unto the King your Father, of glorious Memory; so never any had greater desire than I, to make acknowledgement of it to your Majesty: but living in obscurity, retired from the light of Court; and making no Figure there, I imagined it would have no Grace for such a shadow and cipher as I, to present myself unto your Majesty; and other presents I had none, but only this, which by its littleness, shows the greatness of my desire to declare myself,  
MADAM, Your Majesties In all Humility and Devotion, Richard Flecknoe.   

Divine and Moral EPIGRAMS.  
The Fourth BOOK.  
To her MAJESTY, Of the dignity and efficacy of prayer.  
AS by the Sun we set our Dial's, so  
(Madam) we set our Pietys' by you;  
Without whose light, we should in darkness be,  
And nothing truly good nor virtuous see.  
You in the Temple so assidual are,  
Your whole Life seems but one continued Prayer;  
And every place an Oratory you make,  
When from the Temple y'are returned back:  
Like vapours prayers ascend, and heaven in rain  
Of blessings, showers them down on us again;  
And if Heaven suffers violence, from whence  
But only prayer proceeds this violence?  
Fools were those Giants then, since if instead,  
Of heaping hills on hills, as once they did,  
They had but heaped up prayers on prayers as fast,  
they might have easily conquered heaven at last.  
O mighty prayer, that canst such wonders do,  
To force both Heaven, and the Almighty too!   

On these words of our B. S. O woman great is thy Faith!  
O Lord! when shall our Faith be praised thus?  
And we deserve t'have thus much said of us?  
Others count all things possible to thee,  
We nothing possible but what we see:  
They more to faith, than senses credit give,  
We more our senses, than our faith believe  
They believe all, we but believe by halfs,  
Their Faiths are Giants, ours but only dwarves.   

Why I writ these pious Epigrams so short.  
SInce long discources thou'lt not hearken to,  
I make these short, to see what that will do.   

On the Nativity of our B. S.  
AFter the Glory which to God on high,  
Was given to day, at his Nativity:  
If piously— curious you would know  
What Peace it was, was given to men below.  
That peace of God infallibly it was,  
All humane understanding does surpass;  
Which whilst the high & proud do seek in vain  
The low and humble only do obtain.  
Seek then to know no farther, but be wise,  
This is the Mystery of Mysteries;  
After which none that any Reason hath,  
Can doubt of any mystery of Faith,  
That God's a Man, and 's Mother a Virgin is,  
What can there be more wonderful than this?   

Of the Circumcision of our B. S.  
HOw soon, O Lord, to day didst thou begin  
To shed thy blood for us, when first was seen?  
Spring forth the Fountain of thy precious blood,  
Which at thy passion, ended in a flood.   

On the death and passion of our B. S.  
O Blessed God and wouldst thou die.  
For such a wretched thing as I?  
This of thy Love's so great a proof  
Angels can ne'er admire enough;  
And all the Love by far transcends,  
Of Parents, and of dearest friends:  
T'have such a benefit bestowed,  
Would undo any but a God:  
And Love itself make Bankrupt too,  
By leavinged nothing more to do.  
Had King or Prince done this for me,  
What wondering at it would there be?  
And wondering at it now there's none,  
When by a God himself 'tis done!  
Strange blindness! man should more esteem  
Of any thing that's given to him,  
By earthly Kings, than what is given  
Unto him by the King of heaven!   

Of judgement.  
DEath terriblest of terriblest they call,  
But here behold the terriblest of all;  
For none fear death, but those who judgement fear  
For some offences th'ave committed here.  
Life's but a prison, we the prisoners are,  
Death, jailor, or the Turnkey as it were:  
Who but delivers us when Sessions come,  
To the Tribunal, to receive our doom:  
When as we well or ill have lived here,  
We shall be punished or rewarded there:  
And this now is the most that death can do,  
The rest let each one's Conscience look unto.  
Happy are those who in that dreadful day,  
With good Hylarion confidently may say,  
" Go forth my soul, this many and many a year  
Thou hast served God, & now why shouldst thou fear?  
Leave that to those, who whilst they made abode  
In this world here, did serve it, more than God:  
" The good and virtuous wish for death, the bad  
And vicious only are of death afraid.  
Death is the shadow of life, and as in vain  
A beast should look for th' shadow of a man;  
So those who have not lived the life, should trust  
In vain, at last to die the death o'th'just.   

Of Easter and Christmas.  
OF Easter, a great word was said,  
This is the day the Lord hath made;  
Of Christmas yet, a greater word,  
This is the day that made the Lord.   

On these words of our B. S. I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Paraphrase.  
THou art the Way, the Truth, and Life thou sayest,  
As well thou mayst,  
What Fool is he, than would forsake the way,  
And go astray?  
What Fool is he, who would the Truth refuse,  
And falsehood choose?  
But above all, what fool and mad man's he  
Would forsake thee,  
Who art Eternal Life, and choose to die Eternally?   

On God's beholding all we do.  
THou fearest the sight of men, when thou dost ill,  
Why not the sight of God, who sees thee still?   

On our dependency on the hands of Almighty God.  
HAve you not marked how little puppets move,  
By their dependanee from some hand above?  
Just such is man i'th' hands of God, if he  
But well considered his dependency;  
And who if this he well consider would,  
Should ever dare to offend Almighty God?  
Who gently leads those, who his will obey,  
And those who won't, he hales and drags away.  
Rebel and fool then, struggle not in vain,  
To flee the hand of God, and break thy chain;  
Which thou canst never do, nor ever flee,  
But from God pleased, to God displeased with thee.  
Struggle no longer with him then, for woe  
Unto thee, if he once but let thee go.   

On these words of B. S. Be ye perfect.  
YOu bid us to be perfect, Lord and we  
Continue still imperfect as you see;  
What should we say, O Lord, but only this?  
Give what you bid, and bid us what you please.   

On these words of the Apostle Nihil ex me possum facere. And again: Omnia possum in eo qui me Confortat.  
HAppy are those who doubly armed are,  
Against presumption, and against despair;  
By these words of th' Apostle: first, that man  
(Without God's help) of himself nothing can;  
and next that he can all things do again,  
By Grace of God, who helps and comforts him.   

On the saying of a certain holy man.  
MY God and I can all things do, said one,  
And if it seems too great presumption  
To name himself with God, 'tis without doubt  
A greater yet, to name one's self without.   

On these words. Deo service Regnare est.  
HArk all, who just like Tantalus' starve,  
Whilst you in vain for worldly greatness serve;  
And know that all this world is but a cheat,  
And how there's nothing in't that's truly gyeat:  
But if indeed true greatness thou dost love.  
'Tis only to be sought i'th' world above.  
And to serve God whilst in this World weare here  
Is th' only way to arrive unto it there.  
Know then, the only true Ambition,  
Is for to serve Almighty God alone.  
For who serve others are but slavish things,  
But 'tis to Reign to serve the King of kings,   

On the Picture of a weeping Magdalen.  
ARt as well as Nature could,  
Have made a speaking, if it would,  
As well as weeping Magdalen:  
But that it is the nobler way,  
In those who grieve for love they say,  
to grieve and never to complain.   

On the Magjis following the Star.  
OTher Astrologers of opinion were,  
That all the World was lesser than a Star;  
But these it seems, believed it alone,  
Who would leave all the world to follow on.   

Of the rooting out vices.  
VIce is in man, as weeds in Gardens are,  
And lest we daily take especial care,  
To weed and root them out, they grow so fast,  
We should be quit over grown with them at last.  
More shame for us, each silly Gardner then  
Should take more care to keep his Garden clean  
Than we ourselves, and with a hand more nice,  
purge it from weeds, than we ourselves from vice.   

Of the pleasure of doing good, etc.  
DO good with pain, this pleasure in't you find,  
The pain's soon past, the good remains behind:  
Do ill with pleasure, this y'ave for your pains.  
The pleasure passes soon, the ill remains.   

On a Lady's Beauty suddenly decayed.  
O Heavens! is this that so admired face,  
Where yesterday such world of Beauty was?  
And now to day, 'tis all so wholly gone,  
No shadow could be vanished half so soon!  
If this the end of mortal Beauty be,  
O thou imortal; rather unto thee  
Let me my vows, and my devotions pay,  
That ever lasts, and never canst decay:  
Then such frail Idols, which whilst we adore,  
To day are here, to morrow are no more.   

Of Sin.  
WHo would but think, when theyare about to sin  
O'th' pain which sinners for't in Hell are in;  
They'd sooner throw themselves i'th' fire here,  
Than hazard ●eing thrown i'th' fire that's there.  
This if thou dost believe, I see not how  
Thou canst a sinner be, and if that thou  
Dost not believe it, than I do not see,  
How thou again a Christian canst be.  
O cursed sin! nor heaven nor earth can bear,  
Cast Angels out of heaven, created there,  
man out of Paradise, who there did dwell,  
And all the rest for sinning into Hell.   

The Harms of procrastination  
You say Repentance never comes too late,  
But let not sinners be deceived with that;  
It may too late be to Repent, if they  
Defer it yet until an other day.  
How many sinners have unto their sorrow,  
Lost Heaven by puttinged off until to morrow?  
And Hell is full of those, who sinning cried,  
To morrow still, till unawars they died.  
Then let's not croaking Ravens imitate,  
By crying cras, cras still, till't be too late:  
But leaving of this damned cry, let's say,  
To morrow is too late, begin to day.   

Of hearing the Word of God.  
IF those (as Holy Scripture makes it clear)  
Who have the Spirit of God, God's Word will hear,  
We well may fear what spirit makes abood,  
In those, who will not hear the Word of God.   

On our B. S. curing the Leper, And our own infirmity.  
O Lord thou know'st how most infirm I am,  
Blind unto Truth, & virtuous actions lame.  
O therefore thou that mak'st the blind to see,  
And lame to walk, help my infirmity.  
I know, O Lord, thou needst but only say  
Be cured, as thou to th' Leper didst to day:  
And thou know'st Lord, so great's my misery,  
That I am far more Leaporous than he;  
For mine's not only in the outward skin,  
But in the very heart, and mind within;  
And does not only make the body soul,  
But even infects and taints the very soul.  
O therefore thou that know'st my infirmity,  
Make haste, O Lord, to help and secure me.   

Of Revenge,  
GOd says Revenge only to him belongs,  
The Laws to them, the righting others wrongs:  
For us to seek Revenge then, what is' else  
But to wrong them, whilst we would right ourselves.   

Of Heaven.  
WHat God is, he might undertake as well,  
As what Heaven is, should go about to tell:  
For God makes Heaven, as Kings make Courts, and he  
No more by man can comprehended be;  
Then can the Ocean that is infinite,  
Be comprehended in some narrow pit.  
Just then, as less the Ocean's bottom's found  
More dieply those ingulpht in it are drowned;  
And as the more's our ravishment, the less  
We can the joys which ravish us express,  
We well may say it ne'er can be expressed,  
What joys are there prepared for the blessed:  
And 'twere not Heaven, if we knew what it were,  
But more a Heaven the whilst, to those are there.   

Of the thought of death.  
I Can't conceive how any can be said,  
Happy to live, who are of death afraid;  
Since daily we in every thing do see't,  
And every where weare put in mind of it:  
Happy was he then every night did go  
To bed, as 'twere unto his grave, and so  
Got such a habit of't at last, he did  
Go to his grave, but as he went to bed.  
" Since every where death waits for us, 'tis fit,  
" We likewise every where shut wait for it.   

Of a Noble Ladies embracing a Religious Life, Eglouge:  
A gentle Sheepherdess, as ere did tread  
Upon the Plains whereon her Flock were fed,  
Inspired by him, who all good thoughts inspires,  
Felt in her breast, till than unfelt desires  
To taste Heavens pleasures, seeing Earth had none,  
A Soul in longing, long could feed upon.  
But changing one, a weary of the first,  
She found the latter pleasure still the worst:  
And so went still deluded in her mind,  
Seeking for that which she could never find.  
This Infant thought, with pious care she fed,  
And with Religious Education bred;  
Giving it now an Aspiration,  
Or vote of that blessed life to feed upon;  
And now a sigh, and now a tear again,  
For never knowing that happiness till then:  
Avoiding carefully those Rocks and Shelves,  
On which so many souls had wracked themselves,  
Those two extremes on which so many fall,  
To undertake too much, or nought at all.  
For 'tis with new-born-childrens of desire,  
As 'tis with sparks you kindle unto fire:  
Starved with too little fuel 'twill not lighs,  
Oppressed with too much, 'tis extinguished quite.  
And now she's all a fire, happiness be  
Fair Virgin to thy best desires and thee:  
So full, so high, so great a happiness,  
As nothing can be more, that is not less;  
Nothing beyond, but down the Hill again,  
And all addition rather loss then gain.  
By glad experience mayst thou find all store  
Of heart's contentment thou expects and more;  
And learn that Magic of Religion there,  
Makes every thing quite contrary appear  
To you, than unto us. Rich poverty,  
Triumphant sufferance, brave humility,  
Soft hardness, greatest difficulties slight,  
Sweet bitterness, and heaviest burdens light:  
Ease in your labour, pleasure in your pain,  
A Heaven on Earth, and all things else but vain.  
FINIS.